


Thought That Counts

by Mortior



Series: Twenty Red Lights [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Timeline, Explicit Language, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, alpha stridercest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortior/pseuds/Mortior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk's Hollywood superstar Bro decides to do something special for his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thought That Counts

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [Kelaruj's](http://kelaruj.tumblr.com) rendition of [Alpha!Dave](http://kelaruj.tumblr.com/post/14149423802). Can also be found [here](http://mortior.tumblr.com/post/22422636785/thought-that-counts) on Tumblr.

Your name is Dirk Strider and today is your birthday. Or rather, it was your birthday, since the digital clock’s glowing numbers are telling you that it’s now 12:17 AM. Your Bro is next to you in the wide bed you share, propped up against the wall with his arms folded behind his head. His shades are clipped to the front of his red silk shirt, the one that almost matches his eyes (the color is a bit too dark). You’re reclining next to him, stretched out on your side with am arm slung lazily over his broad middle, listening contentedly to the dialogue and sound effects of the movie while his soundless inhales and exhales move your arm slowly up and down.

All things considered, today wasn’t that different from any other day, except that Dave stayed in. No meetings, no errands, just some quality Strider family bonding time, meaning that he told you to ‘pick some shit that you feel like doing, I’ll just be along for the ride today little dude’ and subsequently sat through three movies with you, finally caved in and helped you take apart and fix the stovetop, and finished that off by testing it with a chemistry project you’ve been planning (biofuels are easy to make if you have the right materials). But that was yesterday, and your final movie choice of the night to top everything off is about ten minutes from ending. You managed to pay attention to most of it even though you’ve seen it before, and about two hours in your exhaustion got the better of you, leading to the position you’re in right now. Dave considerately turned the volume down on the TV after you settled in against his side, until it was just loud enough for you to make out the words, but not quite enough to keep you from dozing off.

As the credits start rolling, Dave takes a deep, noisy breath that usually indicates that he’s about to move. You feel his long fingers thread into your hair and run through it gently. His nails against your scalp are heaven.

“You were right man, that wasn’t bad.”

“Told you.” You mumble into his side, too tired to bother with more elaborate declarations of success. His fingers gently tuck your short hair behind your ear, then run down the side of your jaw, brush against your neck, trace the contour of your clavicle. You crack an eye open when you feel and hear him shift on the bed. The red of his shirt is all you see when the mattress dips down and his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You breathe in the lingering scent of his cologne, almost gone now that it’s the end of the day, and who the hell puts on cologne when they’re not going out? His fingers return to your hair, carding through it affectionately. A contented sigh communicates to him how happy you feel, wrapped in his arms. He speaks your language of minimal gestures and sounds, a mutual dialect the two of you share. He understands.

The two of you stay like that until the music from the credits finally fades out, and the room falls quiet, apart from the television’s faint electronic whine, and the distant rush of traffic from the streets below. Dave’s hand has abandoned your hair to massage your neck and shoulders. You’re on the edge of falling asleep, but his ministrations are keeping you from slipping into unconsciousness, and you’re starting to suspect his motives.

Almost as though Dave can sense that his cover’s been blown, he leans over and his warm, soft lips press against the side of your head, your cheekbone, the edge of your jaw. One of his hands has wandered south, smoothing down the side of your thin sleepwear shirt. His mouth lingers at your neck, lips trailing lightly over your skin at first, but by the time he reaches your shoulder and pulls the fabric aside, his teeth and tongue have gotten involved. The evening up until now had been relaxing and, damn it, you do not want to have to deal with his particular brand of physical intimacy tonight. When he inevitably moves to straddle you, you respond by sitting up as far as you can manage with a man almost twice your size on top of you, pushing halfheartedly against his shoulders and pulling up your knees to get some leverage, but his hands grab onto your legs and he gently but firmly pushes back. He’s leaning over you somewhat precariously, and you could force him off if you wanted to. But you don’t. This isn’t a rooftop strife. He looks pleased with himself, blood-red eyes staring purposefully into yours as he plucks his shades from where they’re hanging on his shirt and sets them aside, and you know exactly what he’s trying to do.

“The fuck are you trying to do?”

Dave’s expression, probably intended to be seductive up to this point but that shit doesn’t really ever work on you and you both know it, breaks into a genuine smile, like he’s actually found something un-ironically funny about what you just said. “Duh. It’s your birthday, dude.”

That earns him a lifted eyebrow, which quickly becomes a frown when both hands start to travel down, sliding over your back and around your hips. He pushes your shirt up as he shifts further down the bed, until you could wrap your legs around his shoulders.

This confirms your suspicions of what his intentions are, and you grab his hand right before it can slip into your pants. “Dude.”

“Come on, bro, relax.” He’s still got that predator’s look on his face, and you briefly consider actually forcing him off of the bed. But his hands are at the junction between your leg and hip, achingly close to your slowly hardening erection, and he’s rubbing in firm circles, kneading at the fabric of your pants, and yeah you’ve definitely got a full-blown hard on coming soon if he keeps that up. You are way too fucking tired for this.

His head dips down again, this time to press an open mouthed kiss to your exposed stomach. His tongue, smooth and wet, swipes across your skin, teeth scraping lightly in between licks, and his hands are under your knees, lifting them up to push you further back against the bed.

You try to prop yourself up with your elbows, but the mattress is too soft to provide a firm enough surface, and you’re soon flat on your back, knees bent, with him looking up at you in between. “Dude, come on.” You protest, but your heart’s not in it, and Dave knows that, damn him, (probably from the obvious tent in your pants), acknowledging you with a skeptic ‘Ahuh.’ There’s a big part of you that doesn’t want him to stop, despite your words and the fact that you really are too tired for this. He resumes massaging your thighs and hips, occasionally sliding his hands between your legs to brush purposefully against your erection, and now you can’t stop your hips from twitching up in response, because the longer this is going on, the less you feel like fighting it.

“I’m really not in the mood, Bro.” You try, but can’t seem to force any conviction into the words as they come out, and your breathing has picked up. Dave knows he’s already won. He’s persistent tonight. The hands at your thighs are starting to feel unbearably good where he’s kneading in firm circles, just a short distance from your crotch.

“Are you sure? Tonight’s a special occasion.”

“No it isn’t. My … birthday ended half … half an hour ago.” 

He rolls his eyes out of lack of concern for that minor technicality. Your hips are moving with his hands now, rolling up a few centimeters every time he rubs, inching closer to your aching dick.

“It’s still yesterday elsewhere on the globe, bro. Come on.” His voice is softer now, cutting through the intended sarcasm, and he leans down to press his mouth to the jutting bone of your hip where he’s succeeded in pulling your pants down a few inches. His warm lips slide over your skin, traveling across the dip of your abdomen to the opposite rise of bone, leaving behind a path of cooling saliva, and it feels wonderful. Your own lips part in a quiet sigh, watching the top of his white-blond head as his restless hands slide around to rub from the back of your knees up to the edge of your ass, stopping just short of grasping the globes of your butt. He suddenly presses his mouth against the top of your clothed erection, and you can’t stop the hiss that escapes between clenched teeth. 

“Fuck.” You fist your hands into the sheets, trying to keep from bucking your hips but only partly succeeding. He looks up at you with that infuriating smirk you simultaneously hate and can’t get enough of. Fucking sexy asshole.

“We can turn the lights off if you want.”

‘If that will help.’ He means. And yeah, it would. You know that he likes to keep them on during intimate moments such as these, but he also knows how much more uncomfortable you are with it. It doesn’t stop him from teasing you about it later, but at least he’s willing to work around your hang-ups.

You can’t see anything except the top of his head as he dips down again, apparently deciding not to wait for an answer, and presses his lips against the bulge in your pants. He mouths your dick through the fabric, making you grit your teeth and your hips roll up against your will. An agonizing minute or two of that, and you finally let your head fall back, hands fisting the covers as your breathing speeds up in audible sighs and pants. Several months of trial and error have made him a master at ramping you up at just the right pace. He knows exactly how fast to move, how hard to push you to make you give in. And god, sometimes you want to give in so badly it hurts, but there’s this obnoxious, persistent voice in your head that can’t let you go down without a fight.

His hands have wandered behind your legs again, except this time he does slide them all the way up to grab your ass in both hands, shamelessly kneading into your flesh. Your reflex is to tell him off, because while you have a personal appreciation for plush rumps, you don’t particularly enjoy having yours manhandled, but his mouth is getting more forceful by the moment. Somehow the words won’t come when you part your lips. All that does come out is a high-pitched whine that makes you burn with humiliation. Shit.

When you finally manage to form a coherent sentence, Dave’s already well on his way to working his fingers into the waistline of your pants. “Man … c-come on.” The way you gasp makes you cringe, and you feel a hot blush of embarrassment creeping into your face that he can’t possibly miss. “You said you’d … turn the … the light off-f.” He’s won, you’re not going to deny that anymore. It’s been too long. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve let him go down on you. That isn’t to say that he hasn’t tried more often than that, but you’re rarely receptive. Distracting and redirecting him isn’t usually difficult. You’d much rather have his cock down your throat, his voice groaning your name in your ears, than have it the other way around.

Dave sits up with this smug, victorious look on his face, but it’s darkened with how much he’s getting off on this too, and you watch him lean across the bed to turn off the lamp. After the familiar click, the room is briefly obscured in darkness until your eyes adjust a moment later to the faint light from the television. You can see the outline of your Bro, returning to kneel between your knees, hands pushing down into the mattress on either side of your waist, but you can’t make out his features anymore except for the murky outline of his hair and jaw. 

Turning off the light changes the atmosphere in the room, and Dave doesn’t say anything as his fingers smooth across the fabric of your pants, and maybe it’s the fact that the lights are off and you know he can’t see you any better than you can see him, but your willingness to let go and let him have this is growing, and it makes you nervous, the way that losing all of your carefully, preciously maintained dignity and self-control tends to do in a way that you’ll never admit to. At least, not in words, and not to anyone but him.

He finally pulls down your pants, and by now your legs are trembling, equal parts arousal and nerves. The soft fabric slides down until it bundles up at your knees, but you make no move to help him get them off. That rebellious part of you is still against this, although it’s quickly being overpowered. You can see, even in the dark, how hard you are for him. The arousal is clouding your judgement, little by little, as he keeps nudging you along. It’s the best tactic that works with you, and he knows you so well.

He moves down again after pulling your pants off the rest of the way, tossing them out of sight. His elbows rest on either side of your hips, his fingers brush over the base of your dick, and he starts to massage there, rubbing tiny circles with his fingertips, kneading into your groin in a way that makes you bite back a groan. God, it feels fantastic after he’s built you up, but at this point you kind of wish that he’d just let you jerk yourself off, because the way you’re shaking and jerking your hips now is humiliating. His head dips a little lower, and you go rigid in anticipation. The pressure of his flattened tongue against the head of your dick is the first thing you feel, and he lingers there for a long moment. You can tell that this is going to be exactly like every other time he’s done this, and it drives you crazy with frustration. But you swallow the urge to say something because that’s a little further than you’re willing to give in just yet. 

His lips slide slowly over the head and form a tight seal around it, tongue staying pressed flat against the tip. You breathe deeply and try to stay still, resisting the way your toes want to curl when his tongue starts to move around the slit, teasing, too light to provide enough stimulation. His hands leave the base of your cock and slide reassuringly up to rest on your hips, probably to hold you down later when he finally cuts the bullshit and starts to do this seriously.

As he moves to take in more of your length, the top of his head descends slowly, a centimeter at a time, and the tight suction of his mouth gradually devours you. You can’t stop your hips from bucking in response, and just like you predicted, his hands are already there to hold you down, so all you manage is a restless shudder. This isn’t going to happen any faster than he wants it to. You realize suddenly that you can hear yourself panting, and make a conscious effort to clamp your mouth shut.

It takes what feels like forever, but you know he’s reached the base when you feel the tip of his nose touch your abdomen. You’re immensely glad that he’ll have trouble looking up at you from that angle. However all thoughts go out the window when his tongue starts to work you. He rubs the soft, wet muscle against your shaft, firm and slow, obviously not in any hurry to get you off. He’s only really just gotten started, and you can already feel yourself losing it. Without breaking the seal of his lips around your cock or the rhythm of his tongue, he lets go of your hips and wraps his arms around your trembling legs, affectionately rubbing your knees with his hands since they’re the only thing he can reach from that position. Without him holding you down, you’re restlessly bucking your hips up, but since he’s already completely swallowed you, it doesn’t do you much good. You run through a string of curses in your head, try to squirm in his grasp, but his arms are keeping you firmly in place. About the only productive thing you can do at this point is move your hands, so you release your death grip on the wrinkled sheets to rest a shaking hand on top of his head. But the urge to bury your fingers in his hair and grab on is too strong (you know from experience that he doesn’t appreciate having his hair pulled while he’s doing this), and you latch on to one of Dave’s arms instead where it’s wrapped around your leg. Your restraint is finally starting to crack.

“Ahh-h … … D- … Dave … ” Your trembling voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it all the same. You feel his grip tighten on your legs in response, but the tongue working your cock doesn’t move any faster, and actually does the opposite. God fucking damn it. You’re shaking all over now, you’re already so close, but he’s slowed down, and it’s your own damn fault for saying his name out loud. He does it on purpose, every time. You gasp his name again, even though you know by now that nothing you do or say will make him go faster. This is why you were against this. Every time he goes down on you, it’s torture. Sweet, sexy torture, but all the same, it’s still fucking torture. 

It takes a few minutes of admirable, miraculous self-control on your part before you really start to lose it. It happens gradually, marked by your increasing inability to stay quiet. Biting your lip only helps to a point, and it doesn’t stop the whimpers and choked sounds from getting out, or from getting progressively louder. And Dave, damn him, is going to keep this up until he pulls you, little by little, over the edge. You know the apartment is soundproofed for your Bro’s mixing, but it doesn’t lessen the embarrassment of hearing your voice betray you like this. Dave’s let go of your legs, hands running slowly, lovingly up and down your sides, grasping your ass, touching you everywhere he can reach, encouraging you, finally coaxing out a few bare, honest moans from your throat. His mouth and tongue feel so good it borders on painful. You’re helpless to stop your back from arching off of the bed, despite the way it makes your muscles ache. He makes some sort of sound, gently vibrating around you in his mouth, and it almost pushes you over, almost drowns you right then and there in the sensation. You’re shaking too hard to wrap your legs around his shoulders, but he gently takes hold of your knees and guides you there, doesn’t care about the way your heels dig mindlessly into his back. It’s too much, his weight on your hips, his mouth working your dick, the sound of his labored breathing through his nose, the obscene pressure of his hands kneading into your ass, it’s all too much. His name comes out as a strangled sob between clenched teeth. You’re so close, so painfully, unbearably close, and he knows.

You begin a familiar mantra in your head, a random, nonsensical chain of curses and pleas that slowly becomes audible, if not exactly discernible. You know what’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him when he releases one hand from its grip on your ass to slide it up, working his fingers between his own tightly sealed lips and the base of your cock, and you can’t stop (don’t want to stop) the desperate, stuttered cry of ‘please god fuck no Dave please’ as he wraps a practiced thumb and forefinger around you and squeezes hard. The sound of anguish that comes out of you is loud enough to qualify as a scream, but you’re beyond caring. His other hand brushes between your legs, and you feel his fingers form a similar ring around the top of your scrotum, just beneath your cock. He pulls down, while the ring of his fingers around your dick tightens to just shy of painful, but he knows what he’s doing. Your own hands are gripping the sheets so hard you’re losing the feeling in your fingers. With both of Dave’s hands occupied he’s unable to hold onto you, but, god, you’re shaking too hard to buck your hips anymore, reduced to uncoordinated, wracking spasms of muscle, hair damp with your own sweat, and you’d be ashamed if you had enough thought processes left. Cool droplets of sweat sting your eyes and roll down the curve of your back as your muscles finally start to go into fatigue (all that strifing is the only thing that’s kept you going this long). The effort to censor the sounds being coaxed out of you has also been abandoned, words dissolving into nonsense that you’ll be embarrassed about later, but you aren’t capable of it at the moment. You barely have enough strength left to shake under his touch, but you manage it somehow.

The next few minutes of your life are spent in a state that you’ve labeled in the past as ‘borderline legitimate abuse, Bro.’ You’ll be sore tomorrow, no doubt. The fact that everything happening right now between the two of you is consensual does not change the fact that you’re not going to let him do this to you again for a long time. The only reason Dave subjects you to his favorite form of tantric torture is because he gets off on it almost as much as you do, and you imagine that he’s just as hard himself right now. With every passing moment the sensation becomes increasingly unbearable, and you know that you’re finally getting close. You also know that begging is useless, but it doesn’t stop you, and you hold out the hope that maybe, just maybe, if you can show him how desperate you are and how badly you need this that he’ll take pity on you. Your abused voice is horse by the time you give up and just let go of that last remaining thread of restraint, pulled taught by your Bro’s persistent ministrations and finally broken, and your loud moans are, for once, rewarded with just the slightest, sympathetic increase in the pace at which he’s been working you for what feels like far too long. His hands are still fastened around your cock, pinching off any hope you had of coming immediately, but he’s moving with you at last, the seal of his mouth moving up and down your length. He alternates between swallowing you completely and pulling back just enough to give his tongue room to curl around your shaft and rub, and the slight change in angle allows him to look up at you, to watch you shudder and plead, “fuck please I can’t, I can’t, god Dave please please fuck please,” your voice strained and raw in your throat, shaking with the rest of you.

He watches you for a long moment, then shifts, rising up on his knees and moving to lean over you without breaking the seal of his mouth. His elbows push at your legs until they part all the way, and he buries your cock into his throat, lips pressing against the base of your shaft, and he sucks hard as his hands release you to press his weight down against your hips, pushing you firmly into the bed, and your back immediately arches like a bow, forcing from you a high-pitched keen that turns into a scream as you experience one of the longest and hardest orgasms of your life. He doesn’t ease up until the last few wracking spasms have left you senseless and overwhelmed, pulling back and gently running his tongue over the head, mindful of how sensitive you are. He licks away everything he didn’t manage to swallow, hands running affectionately up and down your sides as you come down from your high. You’re damp with sweat and still trembling slightly with exhaustion and relief, eyes closed and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Regaining your composure can wait until after the post orgasmic haze stops feeling so goddamn good.

After a minute, Dave finishes cleaning you and starts peppering your abdomen with kisses, making his way back up your body. His restless tongue traces over your ribs as they rise and fall, before he moves up to press his lips against the side of your neck, mouthing at your skin. You manage to tip your head up enough to look down and see the telltale bulge in his pants, before one of his hands cards through your hair, and your head falls back to rest on the pillow. He leans over you, his face inches from yours, and he’s breathing almost as hard as you are. When he finally leans down to close the short distance and his lips meet yours, it’s uncharacteristically tender. His fingers run through your damp hair, thumbs rubbing against your forehead, smoothing away the strands sticking to your skin as he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll break. His tongue slips out a few times only to brush lightly against your lips, and he tastes like he just got done sucking you off, but you don’t care. You relish the way the rough stubble on his chin scrapes against your skin, more so than usual because he hasn’t shaved, and how his forehead presses against yours in between kisses. He’s panting against your mouth as you lift a weakly trembling hand to rest it against the side of his neck, then the other, and you let your arms wrap around his shoulders, too tired to do anything else, yet perfectly willing at this point to let him do whatever the fuck he wants to you. But he abruptly breaks away and leans back to look down at you silently. Your hands slip from his shoulders and slide down his chest, only exposed by the unbuttoned top of his shirt, until they’re resting on his legs not far from the large tent in his pants. You know that he’s watching you, but you can’t decide whether he’s waiting for you to do something or if he’s hesitating. 

As soon as you make the decision to touch him yourself, he moves on his own, rising up on his knees to unzip his pants just enough to uncover his erection. Dave going without underwear isn’t unusual if he’s staying in, but the sight of how painfully hard he is takes you back, and you can’t think of much to say besides “Shit, Bro,” which you whisper under your breath. His cock is significantly larger than yours, and you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when he pulls it free from his black pants.

He’s pauses for a moment, seeming to consider something before he leans over to the side, reaching for the standing lamp next to the bed, which turns on with a click. The sudden light makes you wince and by the time your eyes are open he’s leaning over you, pulling at your arm until you slide it under his leg, then the other, before he moves to press his knees into the pillow on either side of your head. The tip of his cock rests against your cheek before he takes it in one hand. His thumb rubs across your lips, parting them, tracing the outline of your mouth along the bottom, and you feel a slight sting where you bit yourself too hard a few minutes ago. You guess that he wants you to return the favor, then, which you have no problem doing, except this particular angle might present some challenges.

“Open up.” He whispers, and you obey. His eyes are locked on to yours, and the light lets you see the pronounced flush across his face. Looking up at him from this angle is a new thing for you, and you decide that you like this position. You have a slight (maybe not so slight) kink for being held down that Dave either doesn’t know about or isn’t inclined to explore, which is fine. But the way he’s sitting on you, pinning you to the mattress and holding your arms down with his legs, makes you wish that you had gotten to try this before he got you off. You consider telling him that, but you figure it can wait until later.

Dave leans forward and guides the tip of his cock to rest against your bottom lip, the curve of it stopping just inside of your mouth. You raise your head to meet him halfway, but a hand on your forehead pushes you back down. You give him a mildly confused look, but you’re too tired to really care about how he wants to do this. He’s staring down at you, slowly tracing your face with his fingers, around the curve of your eyes, brushing against your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. Looking down to take in the sight of his cock at your mouth, you notice that his other hand has started to move up and down his own length. Oh.

“Look at me.” He says breathlessly, and you can tell that he isn’t going to last much longer given how uneven his breathing is already. You meet his eyes and wish that you could touch him, maybe unbutton his shirt all the way so you can run your hands over the broad planes of his chest or push the hair out of his face where it’s falling in front of his eyes, but he’s still got your arms pinned. So you do the only thing you can, pressing the tip of your tongue against the head of his cock. He doesn’t seem to object to that, at least. You rub your tongue in small, lazy circles, and you can see his hips twitch as he gasps and tries his hardest not to thrust into your open mouth. His unoccupied hand threads into your hair and tightens. The dull pain is almost enough to reawaken your spent arousal, but he quickly lets go, smoothing the mussed spot down with shaking fingers. It would be kind of nice if he pulled your hair every once in a while, but he never seems to want to, even when he obviously does want to, and it’s one of many things about sex with Dave that frustrate you. 

He’s cursing under his breath, and you catch your name a few times between expletives, letting you know that he’s close. As much as you love the smooth, deep tones of Dave’s voice, usually layered with a monotone of sarcasm and confidence for the media and his adoring public, nothing will ever compare to how the pitch of it changes when you’re getting him off. You’re the only one who gets to see him like this, without the cool persona he maintains for the rest of the world, and you want to remember every moment of it. You flick your tongue against him, close to the little slit at the front where there’s a recognizable salty flavor, and he digs his fingers into the pillow, inches from the side of your face, while his other hand starts to move faster. You watch his expression carefully, noting the way he grits his teeth when you rub your tongue against the underside of his cock, so you do it again, and again. That finally earns you a breathy moan, and the sound is exquisite. When you start to work the tip of your tongue against the slit again, he shudders violently. “Ffff-fuck …. aaa-ah … ” You feel him suddenly tense up with a small jerk of his hips that thrusts him a little bit further into your mouth, and it’s just enough for you to close your lips over the head and suck. He comes with a startled gasp, and you watch his face as he rides out his orgasm, taking in the way his red eyes squeeze shut and his jaw tightens, and it awakens something in you, something you’ve been fighting. You want him to thrust into your mouth. You want him to hold you down and shove his cock down your throat and pull your hair and mark you, not just with his mouth, but with his hands. You want to wake up covered in bruises and teeth marks, knowing that he put them there, that they’re his. You want him to take you so badly, even now after you’re both already spent, and you don’t understand why he hesitates, why he treats you like he’s afraid of hurting you, _because you want him to hurt you_. Maybe you’re a little fucked up when it comes to intimacy, but he’s your Bro, and you don’t know why he can’t understand this about you when he gets everything else. You’ve inflicted worse injuries on each other when he strifes on the roof with you, even if he does pull his hits sometimes. You’re so used to being frustrated and turned on at the same time with Dave that you’ve almost accepted it as an inevitable and permanent part of your relationship. 

But he’s finished riding out his orgasm, and his fingers have returned to card through your hair as he watches you with tired, half-lidded eyes and tries to catch his breath. The flavor of his cum in your mouth is mildly bitter, and you swallow it down before he pulls away. His weight lifts from your chest as he leans over to turn the light off, and in the returning darkness you feel him shift down the bed to stretch out next to you. His hand cups the side of your face and his lips are suddenly on yours in a long, firm kiss.

“Love you.” He whispers against you mouth, still a little out of breath. You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you’re sure he can feel it.

“I love you too, Dave, but you’re an asshole.” You whisper back, capturing his lips again before he can reply. “You’re not supposed to torture people on their birthdays, dude.”

“But you said it wasn’t your birthday.”

“Fuck you.” 

He chuckles into the kiss before he pulls back and lays his head on the pillow next to yours, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against him. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and close your eyes, exhausted, but content, and more than ready to finally get some much needed sleep. Dave seems to agree with you, and you can already hear his breathing start to even out. He smells like a mixture of faded cologne and sex, and you breathe it in with a deep sigh. There may be plenty of things about your Bro that frustrate you, but you understand that it’s just the way he is, and you can’t bring yourself to really wish for him to change.


End file.
